


of roses, or of terror

by ultraviolence



Series: the horror and beauty of your eyes burn between [vampire au] [2]
Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/Prototype: Fragments of Sky Silver, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/M, Flirting, M/M, Mystery, Romantic Fluff, Surprise Fluff, Teasing, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, background horror, cute??? in MY mystery smut fic, idiots to even bigger idiots, lucius and arthur have braincells but not when they are together, minor allusions to noncon incest, this one is mostly surprise fluff though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 11:45:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19745080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultraviolence/pseuds/ultraviolence
Summary: As he got further involved in matters relating to the house and its two elusive inhabitants, Lucius discovered that things are really not quite what they seem, and it gets even more complicated from there.AU. Part two of four.





	of roses, or of terror

**Author's Note:**

> Remember when I said that there's just going to be two parts of this? (Sherlock voice) I lied. 
> 
> For pacing reasons, I've decided to split this into three. Fair warning that there is some unsavoury things going on in the back between the siblings, though there isn't any actual depiction of it, but if you're sensitive regarding matters of abuse/non-consensual stuff, it's probably better to tread lightly.
> 
> Now that we get that out of the way, I don't want to spoil anything else. Enjoy!

Lucius braced himself.

He’d sensed no danger from Arthur, but, in his line of work, such things were usually illusory in nature, and, more often than not, becomes the very thing that delivered them to their graves. He was more than aware that this was, in essence, playing with fire, even if a voice in the back of his head told him that Arthur is different from the ones that he’d encountered.

Still, despite his love for danger, he very much preferred having the upper hand and a clear view of the situation.

Initially, when he walked in to the room, following Arthur’s footsteps, he thought that it would be just another dusty, darkened room, perhaps a storage of sorts, judging from how it looks from the outside.

A perfect place for a nightly rendezvous, or perhaps a trap.

But it was a whole other world. 

He found himself in quite spacious a space, rather circular in nature, with many windows, reminiscent of a greenhouse of sorts.

And, like a greenhouse, it was filled with plants of all kinds.

“What…?” He blurted out, very much taken aback by the _reality_ of the situation—the air was fragrant with the scent of several identifiable flowers, an abrupt yet welcome change from the dust-choked atmosphere of the previous rooms they visited, and, had it not been for the ethereal, silvery light falling on them through the windows, and the darkness pressing on his heels and his back, he might have believed that he had somehow been transported to a perfect, if not slightly cool, summer day, someplace far, far away from the phantom-filled mansion and its hungry ghosts. 

He instinctively wondered if it’s real, but a single touch to a leaf of the nearest plant confirmed it. Magic could create convincing illusions, but it cannot deceive one’s sense of touch. Well, not usually.

“I was told that this is where my mother spent her last days, when she got too sick to walk outside,” Arthur said, turning slightly to face him, his words accompanied by a small, wistful smile, gone too soon for Lucius to commit it to memory. “Her secret garden. It’s one of the two things that she left behind.”

Something about the place captivated him—a man like him, who had no place in his heart for such sentiments—and he let his gaze roam free, exploring the nook and cranny of it with a glance, with newfound curiosity. He barely had thought of a suitable reply when Arthur interrupted his thoughts again, after taking a few more steps inside.

“Well, come on in,” he says, and Lucius fancies hearing a certain _shyness_ tucked into the folds of his voice, as if they were boys together, and he was inviting him to a secret clubhouse of sorts. “And please, close the door behind you.”

Entranced, he could only nod, and did as he was asked. He followed Arthur inside, further into the secret garden. A great deal of moonlight seemed to fall on everything, turning even the most mundane thing into something mysterious and magical.

Arthur led them into a corner, tucked between the bursts of greenery, a small pocket of tranquility, with a round, silver table and two matching chairs sitting across each other beside it. It was like something straight out of a storybook.

They occupied the empty chairs, opposite each other, in a companionable silence.

A great deal of moonlight seemed to fall on everything, and Arthur was no exception. The delicate, otherworldly light compliments him well, and, for a moment, it was as if the night was holding her breath, the moment itself a fly trapped in amber, preserved to perfection and captured in timeless eternity. 

“You spend a lot of time here?” Lucius asked, finally breaking the comfortable silence between them. It was more of a statement turned question—from Arthur’s expression and the way he acted, it was clear that this place wasn’t like one of the dusty rooms that they visited earlier. The vibrant state of the plants said volumes about his relationship with the place, as well. 

“Yes,” he answered, a strange, almost childlike honesty, unexpected but welcome. Arthur kept his gaze fixed to a distant point, not consciously avoiding his gaze, but was looking at something that Lucius couldn’t quite ascertain. Perhaps it was the night, or the moon, somewhere high up in the murky, serene sky. Perhaps it was nothing, and everything. “This is where I can be alone,” he continued, finally meeting his gaze. “Ah, I think we’re going off-topic. Forgive me,” Arthur added, accompanied by a small, apologetic smile that he’d spotted earlier when they began their tour of the house.

Lucius couldn’t help but smile. There is something decidedly intriguing about that, he thought.

“A place this big, and you still want to be alone?” He said, playfully, laughing a little. “You are an odd one, aren’t you, Arthur?”

A dark look flitted through his features for a moment, but Arthur kept his composure. The smile that he gave him afterwards was tight, wary, secretive.

“I have my reasons,” he simply said, and shrugged. “Besides, it is quite peaceful here, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Lucius responded, a bit absent-mindedly, his mind still dwelling on Arthur’s sudden change of expression. “It seems like you are quite close to your mother,” he observed, watching the other’s visage closely as he said it. 

“…no,” Arthur said, after a small amount of silence. “She passed away when she gave birth to me. I suppose it is why Morgan refused to come here.”

The mere mention of her name reminded Lucius of their first and only encounter so far, and he made a mental note of this fact. He leaned back on his seat, remembering the idea that he had earlier.

“I’m sorry,” he said, surprised by the fact that he actually mean it. “I didn’t know my mother either,” he added, but quickly shrugged and changed the topic. “Well, no point in discussing that now. Why don’t we talk about something more…lighthearted?”

“Of course,” Arthur readily agree, to his surprise. Lucius shifted slightly on his seat. “Is there anything you’d like to ask me about this house?”

“No, not quite that,” Lucius laughed, brushing the question aside. “I guess we could both agree that we could call it a day, no? Besides, it would be a shame if we talk shop here,” he continued, undaunted, grinning a little when he saw a small, hesitant nod from Arthur. “I was wondering,” he paused for a moment for dramatic effect, making the other hang on to his every word, “if perhaps I could take you out to town tomorrow? It looks like you could use some fresh air.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Arthur replied, ice encasing every syllable. The way his eyes harden reminded Lucius of their conversation in the study the evening before, and it was as if someone suddenly took the book he was reading and closed it forcefully. It was painfully obvious that Arthur was retreating back to his shell. “That’s clearly out of the question. I think we should call this a night—“

“Just dinner,” he persisted, but it was obvious that it fell on deaf ears. The moonlight now seemed like a glimmer from a strange, alien star, illuminating Arthur’s cold, inhospitable expression. “I promise I’ll take you back here soon afterwards. Your sister wouldn’t mind, would she?”

“I suppose it’s time for me to excuse myself,” Arthur said, ignoring both the question and the invitation, abruptly rising from his seat. “I trust that you know the way back to your room,” he told him, icily, giving him a stiff nod. “Good night.”

“Good night, Arthur,” Lucius replied almost immediately, an instinctive response, more amused than surprised. “Will I still see you tomorrow evening for the next round of tour?”

“We’ll see,” he answered, curtly. He was about to leave already, but something seemed to cross his mind. “On your way back, don’t wander,” he said, quickly, clearly wanted to be on his way. “Not even to the rooms we’ve visited earlier. Don’t even think about trying the locked rooms. You know the rules.”

He’d heard it before from the butler who ushered him to his room during the first night, when he’d just arrived in this place, but from Arthur’s mouth, it sounded like a warning. 

It sounded like the promise of danger. Lucius felt a smile forming on the corner of his lips.

“I will do that,” he said, slowly, keeping his gaze fixed on the other man. Arthur pointedly avoided his eyes. “Thanks for worrying about me,” he added, couldn’t help but tease him a little. Arthur blushed lightly and seemed to mutter something under his breath before he turned and walked away—hastily—but Lucius couldn’t make it out.

Well, no matter, he thought. It was an interesting turn of events—Arthur’s rejection was predictable, but the manner in which he did so was quite obviously interesting, and the tidbits he revealed, accidentally or otherwise, was intriguing. 

He threw a quick glance around him before settling back on his seat. The night is still young, and he had quite a few things to ponder over, not to mention a plan to revise.

He wished that he’d brought a pack of cigarettes.

* * *

In his dreams that night, he thought that he saw dark shapes moving, unfathomable and immeasurable. Words that he’d read before, hastily scribbled and twisted in shapes only the writer would understand—if at all—swam before him madly, ghosts before they are words, gone before he could make out what they were trying to convey.

The will, he thought, when he lie abruptly awake. It was in the will.

It was barely dawn when he opened his eyes, the thin, roseate light had only started to trickle through the closed curtains, a myth of beginnings, but Lucius closed his eyes again and rolled to his side. He had no idea why the will suddenly popped up in his mind, it had no business of being there, since it was merely a device for him to get another job done. 

Still, he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that there is something deeper at work here, a larger mystery that he couldn’t grasp just yet. And then there is the mystery of Arthur and Morgan’s relationship—something about it nags at him, imploring him to look closer. He had a feeling that it was the heart of this mystery, or at least something that lies very close to it.

Briefly, he thought about visiting the secret garden in daylight, imagining Arthur in it. An impossibility, in every way imaginable, since his condition would never permit for such a thing. 

Soon enough, he forgot about everything—the terror of the dream, the will, Arthur and the garden—as sleep claimed him for the second time.

This time, Lucius didn’t dream.

* * *

There was no knock on his door that evening after dinner. 

Lucius paced his room several times before he decided to take the matter into his own hands. He doesn’t like waiting, and the room has started to feel cramped. That afternoon, he nearly sneak out of it, but in the end decided against it. As tempting as it was to break the rules in order to try to solve the mystery by nosing around the place, he felt that getting Arthur to talk to him was a more viable and attractive option, figuratively and…well, quite literally.

If the previous evening was any indication, they were getting along quite well, and it was evident that Arthur wanted company, quite desperately so. He doesn’t blame him, since he only had his sister around, the sole living remnant of his family, and it doesn’t seem like he took it upon him to socialise with the servants beyond what was necessary. 

That was perhaps what ultimately caused Lucius to feel sympathetic towards him. They were both alone in the world, in one way or another, and he felt strangely drawn towards that loneliness, a loneliness very much like the one the house exhibited, and yet at the same time so very different. 

He slipped out of his room and into the shadowy realm of the hallway, smoothly, taking extra care to close the door behind him softly. It doesn’t seem like there’s anyone around, and there are only a few servants about at any given moment, but he doesn’t want to disturb the house, and what lies in the shadows beyond. 

He couldn’t think of any particular destination in mind when he started walking, but then he remembered the study, and he thought that it was possible that Arthur was there. The secret garden was another choice, but he thought it quite impossible, after the other man’s revelation that it was his favourite place yesterday evening, considering how their conversation ended. He must have thought that Lucius would look for him there.

Thus, he made his way to the study, traversing the half-lit hallways until he reached the familiar door.

Propriety demands him to knock, but Lucius had a dramatic streak and always preferred to make an entrance whenever possible. If Arthur wasn’t inside, he could use this as an excuse to snoop around for a bit and perhaps discover why the will had suddenly popped into his mind that morning, since this is where he must have kept it.

Forgoing propriety altogether, he pushed the door open. It was unlocked, and it opens smoothly, giving him entrance to the room beyond.

The study was just like when he visited it, a photographic memory of another time, the fireplace empty and unlit, the curtains obscuring the window and the world outside. Thin strands of moonlight falls through, and he directed his gaze to the corner near the large chair that occupies the centre of the room. 

They must have been having a conversation before he arrived, but, judging from their tense expression and the high-strung energy that permeates the room, something must have gone wrong at some point one way or another. They were huddled close together—it must have been an intimate conversation—and Morgan was gripping her brother’s wrist, as if he was about to walk out on her.

Perhaps that was the case. Either way, it doesn’t matter, since they were both looking at him now, two pairs of nearly-identical green eyes staring at him, the newcomer, who was standing in front of the still-open door. 

“Oh,” he said, casually, lazily, as if he didn’t just walk in on their argument, “did I interrupt something?”

Arthur and Morgan was quite clearly flabbergasted by this blatant display of what could only be considered as thoughtful rudeness, since they stared at him for a moment longer after that, as if he had suddenly grown himself a pair of wings. Lucius didn’t back down.

“Don’t you know how to knock?” Morgan expressed, coldly, though exasperation is slipping into her voice. “More importantly, why are you _here_? I don’t recall Arthur mentioning anything about you—“

“I _did_ ask him to come here,” Arthur interjected, and it was the first time Lucius saw him appear very much vexed and on the edge. “I still have a few things to talk about with him. I’m not sure why it’s _that_ big of a deal,” he added, returning Morgan’s glare with a cool, detached look. “Personally, I think we’re done for tonight.”

“No, we’re not,” she says, imperiously, but she did let go of his wrist. “We’ll talk about this again soon,” she declared, and her tone brooks no argument. “I’ll see you again later, little brother,” she spits out, venomous enough to sting, making her way towards the door, only stopping briefly in front of Lucius to give him an indignant look. “Learn how to knock next time, will you?” She told him, and stormed out of the room. 

He was too terribly amused by this bizarre argument between the siblings—and more than mildly curious about it—to say anything to interrupt it, and he stared in amazement as Morgan made her undoubtedly dramatic exit. He let out a small scoff afterwards, but she was gone.

“Don’t take it to heart,” Arthur said, breaking the silence, and Lucius shifted his gaze to him. He was straightening up himself, dusting his sleeve. “She’s not a bad person. She’s just…having a difficult time lately,” he added, with a small sigh, making his way towards him. “Should we get going?”

It was as if the curious argument before—and the one that he was having before Lucius arrived—didn’t happen, carefully hidden behind his words and his now-impeccable suit, and the small, apologetic smile that accompanies those words. He felt a strange sort of concern towards Arthur, but didn’t express it.

“Of course,” he told him, moving aside to let him pass. “Lead the way.”

Arthur seemed all too happy to do just that—despite the fact that he was lying to Morgan earlier about inviting him to the study—and Lucius let him, shifting the conversation to another direction altogether as they started walking side-by-side. 

He didn’t ask him any questions about the interrupted argument, Morgan’s antagonistic attitude towards himself earlier and the evening when he first arrived, or the apparent mystery that is the slightly rumpled state of Arthur’s clothes when he accidentally barged in.

* * *

The direction that they took along the labyrinthine corridors surprised him.

He initially thought that they were going to explore the west wing—a logical continuation from their venture yesterday evening, and where, he figured, the dining room was located—or perhaps upstairs, but instead of leading him to the western part of the house, or up the stairs, Arthur took him to a room with a double door, lying in the shadow of the great grand stairs. 

The doors of this room, too, was once stately, but the current appearance of it speaks of long years of neglect, a grandiose, decadent dream half-forgotten in a cryptic language of a half-buried era long past. It reminded him of the study, in a way; the house itself was like a dreamscape, sculpted with care but, somewhere along the line, was forgotten by its creator and left to the state of partial decay. 

“This is the ballroom,” Arthur announced, as he pushed the double doors open before Lucius’ eyes. “We don’t use this anymore, not for a long time.”

It was indeed a ballroom, a spacious, open space, its curves sweeping even under the cover of darkness, a regal woman with lofty ambitions. The ceiling was decorated in what seemed to be murals, and their footsteps echoed as they walked into it, embraced and elevated by the immense, vast silence that permeates the room. The acoustics of it reminded Lucius of a museum, but after closing time, when a particular silence descends, and the artefacts slumbered their great, undisturbed sleep underneath the mute expanse of this silence. 

Darkness lies thick and heavy upon them, inside the sleeping ballroom, but Arthur doesn’t seem to be bothered by it.

“Wait here for a moment,” he told him, and Lucius felt the brush of his cool fingertips on his arm, a reassuring touch, but it lasted much too short for his liking. After all, he had fantasised about Arthur’s touch before. “I’ll be right back.”

He could see Arthur disappearing into the velvet dark, the light, smooth sound of his footsteps an echo from a dream, from another age and time, and, for a moment, Lucius regretted not having a concealed revolver somewhere on his person this time as concrete reassurance in case things go wrong, but he pushed the thought aside.

When you wait in the darkness, time seemed to pass by in either an instant or an eternity, unencumbered by its usual constraints—or simply transformed—and the same holds true for Lucius now, waiting for Arthur to return. Since he despised inaction, he briefly considered following him into the deep dark, but he managed to delay himself long enough from doing that, and, soon enough, the space was filled with artificial light, surrounding him, brighter than any other rooms that he’d briefly visited in the house. 

Now he could see the murals above, and the light gave the abandoned ballroom a new life, even if only as a ghost of its former self. 

“I’m surprised the light switches still work,” Arthur said, appearing from a corner, his voice ringing loud and clear in the spacious silence alongside his footsteps, somewhat sheepishly. “It’s been such a long time since anyone has been here, if at all.”

“How long has it been?” He asked, striding towards him, meeting him in the centre of the room. He let his gaze flit around the room—not only to observe, briefly, how the light changed it under its radiant touch, but also to make sure that there are no hidden surprises—before he shifted it back towards Arthur.

“I’m not sure,” Arthur mumbled thoughtfully. “My father took me here once when I was a boy, and said that this is where his father and his grandfather before him used to hold dances and parties,” he elaborated, his own gaze flitting around the room, a haze of nostalgia briefly settling on his green eyes. “Morgan used to drag me here when we were kids, and we used to play here from time to time, but I’m not sure if that counts,” he added. “But I think I’m getting off-topic again, am I? Sorry.”

This was a marvellous, delightful development, so different from the Arthur that he knows on the second night in the study, who refused to tell him anything about his father or his family, and Lucius made a private, mental note of this. Was it because of their surroundings—perhaps the high, sweeping ceiling and the bright light surrounding them had some strange positive effect on his psyche—or was it because they were growing to know each other?

Either way, he listened to him talk, and once more, a bold idea seized him.

“I don’t mind,” he told him, and some of the anxiety gracing Arthur’s features seem to melt away. “I like hearing you talk,” he added, smiling slightly at him. “By the way…I have a question. Can you dance?”

“Not that well,” Arthur said, clearly surprised by this question. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, since this is a ballroom,” Lucius answered, slowly, another smile forming on the corner of his lips, a mischievous, playful smile, “and I’m here to assess this house, clearly I have to check if this room is working as it should, don’t you think so?” 

Now Arthur looked well and truly surprised, completely taken off guard by what he was suggesting, and Lucius felt his smile turning into a smirk.

“Let’s see, I think a dance will do,” he continued, already holding out his hand for Arthur to take. “We don’t have music, but since you said that you have some room for improvement, you can also consider it as an impromptu lesson,” he cocked his head to a side slightly, observing Arthur’s expression. “What do you say?”

“…you really _are_ ridiculous, aren’t you?” Arthur finally said, after a moment of embarrassed silence, his cheeks all dyed in red. It was decidedly adorable, and Lucius felt the sudden urge to envelop him in his arms. “I don’t think it quite worked that way,” he added, accompanied with a small, quiet laugh. “But I suppose it would be rather ungentlemanly of me to refuse,” he muttered, a bit darkly, but quickly brightened up, and took his hand, with a dose of his characteristic shyness, although his hand on his were cool and steady. “I haven’t danced in a long time. And I’ve never been to a ball or any party before.”

“Really?” Lucius voiced in response, gripping his hand lightly, deciding that he liked the feel of it. “I’ve been to some, back at home in Rome. I think you would steal the show,” he told him, smiling slightly, holding him in his gaze reverently. He wanted to commit it to memory—how the light tenderly touched him and his golden hair, how the splash of red on his cheeks turned him into a real, tangible thing instead of a figure from a story or a dream, how he felt his own heart quickened by the sight alone. It was a captivating sight to behold, and it was enough to drive a man—any man—insane with longing.

Feeling emboldened, he brought Arthur’s hand to his lips, kissing it lightly with a smile, his eyes never leaving the other man’s face.

“My lord,” he started, bowing slightly, and it was as if time stopped, and the eternal silence that enveloped the room—their mute witness along with the archaic, ruined, distant figures in the murals—seemed to hold its breath, “has anyone ever told you just how beautiful you are?”

Arthur looks positively, very much flustered by this, the blush on his cheeks deepening, and he opened his mouth and then closed it again, suddenly forgetting how to wrap his voice around words. Lucius suppressed a laugh—not a malicious one, just very much amused—and tried to keep a straight face, succeeding at it for the most part. Arthur, however, isn’t faring so well, from the looks of it.

“N- no,” Arthur stuttered, averting his gaze intently, suddenly finding Lucius’ shoes to be very interesting. “I- I mean…not like this,” he added, lamely, and, evidently, quickly regretting it. “I- I don’t know why you bring that up—“

“Because you are,” Lucius interrupted, laughing lightly. He lowered Arthur’s hand only to pull him closer, agilely wrapping an arm around his waist. “And I really think you should know that.”

“Stop teasing me, Lucius,” Arthur told him, clearly trying to be firm but failing terribly, considering the way his voice trembled, something which his body lightly mirrored, as Lucius pulled him into his arm. But he didn’t push him away—Lucius thought of it as a minor victory—and placed his free hand on his right shoulder, timidly. “I’ve agreed for a dance, I don’t think I gave you my agreement for your…your _shameless_ teasing,” he continued, grumbling for a bit, indignantly. “It’s inappropriate, you know.”

“I don’t care about that,” he retorted, playfully, couldn’t help but laugh again at his reaction. “I’m not much for propriety, in case you haven’t noticed,” he continued, guiding Arthur’s other hand to his left shoulder, placing it there with care. “Besides, I’m merely stating the truth. You _are_ beautiful. Is there any truth more divine than that?”

“…suit yourself,” Arthur said, after another moment of flustered, familiar silence. “I don’t think anything I can say will change your mind.”

“Most assuredly, it will not,” Lucius expressed, giving him a broad smile. “Now, without further ado. Follow my lead. It’ll be alright.”

* * *

It wasn’t so much a dance as it was a catalogue of errors and a carnival of minor-yet-entirely-preventable-mistakes, but by the end of it, Arthur was laughing—a genuine, irrepressible sense of mirth and amazement—and he, too, laughed a few times alongside him, his own heart racing like waves on the open sea, crashing and tumbling towards each other in an endless, frantic dance. It was hard not to laugh when Arthur laughed, and, Lucius had to admit, it had been a long, long time indeed since he felt like this. 

A life of someone in his profession is mostly solitary, even if he had tons of dozens of superficial connections and a number of past lovers. Not to mention that, by nature, Lucius detests sentimentality, mostly cursing it as a weak man’s affliction. He loved being admired—perhaps a little bit more than most—and his violently dramatic, obsessive character demands an audience for his exploits, a little like an actor taking the stage, but to want others to want you is one thing, and to want them to love you is another.

As he looked at Arthur then—both of them breathless, both of them exhilarated, both of them now shared a secret moment together—instead of a sense of triumph on cracking open the mysterious safe that he’d been dying to decrypt since the very beginning, he felt a sense of wonder, mixed in with a little horror, that came with the realisation that Arthur had conquered him, instead of the other way around. 

“If you weren’t _that_ much better than me, you shouldn’t have offered to become my teacher,” Arthur said, lightheartedly, trying to hold back some leftover laughter. “I lost count on how many times you stepped on my feet. I think you’ve started doing it on purpose,” he continued, couldn’t hold back said laughter anymore. “Are you actually trying to _kill_ me?”

“I couldn’t help that I was distracted,” Lucius pointed out, keeping a straight face this time. “After you started laughing the first time I accidentally stepped on your feet, I just started wondering if I could hear more of that, so I did it again,” he said, smugly. “This entire thing was actually just a convoluted ploy to get you to laugh.”

“No, it _isn’t_ ,” Arthur insisted, but he covered his mouth with his hand, and it was painfully obvious that he was trying to stop laughing. “You’re just bad at it. You have to come to terms with it.”

“Fine, you got me,” he told him, with a resigned sigh. “It was just an excuse to dance with you. Am I in the clear now, or am I in trouble with you?”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Arthur mused, but there was a clear mischievous undertone to his words. “I suppose you’re clear, but you should be in trouble for your…horrible dancing technique,” he continued, and Lucius was about to argue on the matter, but the sudden change of expression on Arthur’s face made him keep his own words to himself. “Still, this isn’t bad,” he added, pulling his other hand from Lucius’ shoulder and rested it briefly on his lapel. There was a sad, wistful look on his face as he did so, and it enveloped the edges of his voice, but it disappeared just as fast as it arrived. “I suppose maybe I should thank you for this?”

He looked up again at him as he said that, expectantly, a small smile on his lips, and Lucius felt the strange concern he first felt earlier after the scene in the study returned with a vengeance. He didn’t let Arthur go, instead, he felt his grip on the other man’s waist tightening, and Arthur’s smile seem to waver.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he responded, immediately sensing the question in Arthur’s eyes. “I just want to know something. What happened in the study?”

This time, Lucius could actually witness the withdrawal in his eyes, seconds before Arthur’s words confirmed it.

“Nothing,” Arthur said, after a moment of silence, pulling away his hand, his tone just as impersonal and precise as when they first talked, the night after his arrival. “Morgan is having a hard time accepting that father wanted to do away with this house,” he elaborated, somewhat hesitatingly, but Lucius gave him a silent look of approval. “It means a lot to her. She’s just been having a hard time ever since mother passed away. We argued,” he added, giving the last part a certain emphasis. “That’s all. Nothing happened.”

But things still doesn’t quite add up, and, even if he is no detective, Lucius felt a nagging sense that he was on to something.

“That couldn’t have been easy,” he said, his eyes not leaving Arthur’s face. Sympathy had never been his strong point, so he decided to simply forge forward. “But there is more to the story than that, isn’t it?” He pressed forward, noticing the way Arthur pressed his lips together in a tight line. “What _really_ happened in there, Arthur?”

A tense silence passed between them as the question hangs in the air, a conceptual sort of menace, like an executioner’s sword swinging overhead that was suddenly being stopped midair, a metaphorical weapon, but the threat it posed is still lethal, nevertheless.

“I told you: nothing,” Arthur answered, but it lacks defensiveness that was supposed to be there—a natural reaction that should have come up whenever one is faced with a situation where one has to defend one’s self, especially where lies are concerned, and even more so when someone else who was important to you was, in one manner or another, involved in said lie—and instead, it sounded flat, unconvincing, with a resigned quality to it. 

It was as if, whatever Arthur was covering up, if there is any, was something his mind doesn’t want to touch anymore, and therefore detached itself from it. The look that he gave him was just as blank. “I guess I really shouldn’t have done this,” he added, more to himself than to the other, somewhat regretfully. 

“Done what?” Lucius persisted, accompanied with a small scoff. “Trusted an _outsider_?” He pressed on, feeling Arthur’s body stiffening in his arms. “Is that what you think? Or is that something your sister told you?”

“I think you misunderstand me,” Arthur replied, mildly, shaking his head. “Please let me go, Lucius. We’re done for tonight.”

A strange feeling overcame him, then, and, before he released Arthur from his arms, he pulled him closer, not in order to hurt him in any way or to get him to love him in return, but to simply wrap his arms around him. It lasted only for the briefest of second—Lucius still tried to hold on to the notion that he wasn’t a sentimental man—but he could swear that, in that one very brief, very much ephemeral ghost of a moment, he felt Arthur, burrowing his head on his chest.

When they finally separated, they looked at each other, no longer strangers but not yet something else, and, while he couldn’t help but stare at Arthur’s lips, Arthur was evidently trying his best not to do the same to him.

“Goodnight, Arthur Pendragon,” Lucius finally said, smiling slightly at him, giving him the emotional respite that he desperately wanted, and he could hear the other man sigh quietly in relief. “I hope I’ll see you again tomorrow night.”

“Goodnight, Lucius,” Arthur merely said in return, shaking his head briefly, as if he was trying to rid himself of a troublesome thought or idea. A peculiar sort of sadness wrapped itself around his voice and features, and, for a moment, he looked terribly lonely. “I’ll take care of the lights. Don’t stray off path.”

It was reminiscent of what he said before, in the secret garden, another piece in the enigmatic puzzle, but, like before, Arthur quickly disappeared before he could inquire further.

Memories of the light alighting on Arthur’s laughing figure danced on his mind as he left the decaying ballroom, but he pushed it aside, tucking it away, in a safe place far from the vicious shadows that greeted him soon as he stepped out of the door.

He _will_ solve this mystery.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't blame Lucius, Arthur could end an entire Holy Grail War with a smile.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading, and, as always, comments & suggestions are always welcome! <3


End file.
